Song for a Bard
by Lyn Harkeran
Summary: Gringoire's first trip to La Val D'Amour isn't as glamorous as one might suppose. Gringoire/OC oneshot. Takes place before canon events of Notre Dame de Paris.


**Song for a Bard**

* * *

It was September, and the sun had long since set upon the city of Paris; giving up its hold to the darkness that it had so long bred within the walled citadel. And as the shadows grew in the misty, cobbled streets the moon began to rise ever higher in the cloudy sky.

From her chamber window, a young woman watched the ethereal ascent and gratefully bent her head to the fresh winds that blew through her dirty blonde hair, making an almost imperceptible smile form on her otherwise solemn face. Every night this woman opened her window and looked out to the darkened streets and the Paris Quay, taking in the beauty and the ugliness all in stride. Though the water always sparkled like a black version of Notre Dame's mosaics, the port itself was in disrepair. And the people who walked the jetty were even worse off. From sailors, to the homeless, and the common whore- the outskirts near the docks were home, Christine included.

Some might have sneered or thought that the life of a whore was that of a living corpse, but for Christine this had never been the case. True she had never had the chance to do anything else with her life (her mother had been a whore before her, and it was the only trade she'd ever been taught) but she had long since learned the perks of her craft and made peace with her lot. If one kept her head down, did her job well, and was careful of the drunks with grabby hands, life could be good. You had a place to stay, regular meals, and a fairly steady form of income if you were pretty or otherwise talented. Being young and fair, Christine had never had trouble getting customers to request her- she was luckier than some and had always been grateful for it.

As the minutes passed unhurriedly, the young woman let her blue eyes leave the comforting sight of the moon, and passed down to the actual streets themselves. The sight was familiar, but she studied it anyway.

The Port of Paris was the crowned jewel of this particular part of the city; the nearby streets and establishments had successfully made names for themselves as well- with the Place de Greve -an irregular shaped square- connected quite conveniently to the well-known street, Saint Denis. With the watery berth on one side and the _Val D'amour_ whore house and inn on the other, it was a very busy spot. Le Val D'Amour- the whore house where Christine spent her days- was boxed in by the bay on almost all sides, which made the isolation seem great despite the constant visitors.

It was rarely quiet in the Place de Greve, due to the fights and midnight mischiefs that took place there, but it still suited most just fine. If you were poor, a low life, or wished for carnal pleasures it was the _ideal_ place to be.

Christine would have stared down upon the familiar square and watery bay all night long, but as a steady knock resounded upon her door, she pulled her gaze away and pushed back her thoughts.

"Yes," she called.

From outside her chamber door a deep, yet undeniably female voice answered, "Oi, lovely! You _decent_ in there?"

Christine rolled her eyes heavenward as snorts of laughter followed the comment. It was nothing short of a joke to have terms like _decent_ and _virtuous_ rolling off the tongue at La Val D'Amour, so naturally all the whores tried to include such words into their conversations as much as possible.

"I'm as modest as a Saint, Devenue," she said as her door opened to reveal one of her _sisters._ "What do you need?"

"Madame Camille wants you downstairs. She's got a _gentleman_ who can't make up his mind."

Christine laughed, "Is it his first time?"

Devenue nodded, her dark eyes twinkling with humor, "You should see the poor thing, Christine. I swear, he walked in here by accident! And if he keeps blushing and being nice like he is, I'm going to throw him out on the street whether Madame Camille likes it or not."

As the two females exited the chamber together and walked down the hall towards the main floor of Le Val D'amour, Christine shook her head.

"Be nice Devenue! You must show kindness. The new ones are always scared- it's a big step."

"Big step!" The woman scoffed. "It's from the street into our beds! That's a very _small_ step if you ask me."

Christine- having heard this argument from her friend a thousand times didn't try to change her mind. "Fine then, you evil one. Run away now so that Madame Camille doesn't choose you to be his girl."

"I have a right mind to," Devenue said, begrudgingly. "But she specifically demanded that all of us that aren't already otherwise engaged are to come for him to choose from."

"Really?" Christine had very rarely heard of a man that Madame Camille respected enough- or one that had _paid_ enough- for such special treatment. "What amount did he pay?"

"From what I heard nothing." The disgust was obvious in the whore's tone. "Camille owes him a favor, so she's giving him top pick."

"What favor," Christine wondered aloud as they finally descended the last of the stairs and came to stand within the bar area of the whore house, joining twelve of the other sisters of the Val D'Amour.

Devenue smirked as they stood at the back of the cluster of women that hid the mysterious man and Madame Camille from view. "He's her nephew."

To say that Christine was surprised by the news would have been a complete understatement. As far as she had known, Camille- the owner and mother figure of La Val D'Amour- hadn't had _any_ family. When her husband had died, the good Madame had taken control over the house of ill-repute with an iron hand, and had been in charge for more years than most could fathom.

"All right, ladies! That's enough chatter! Line up nice and pretty so we can see you." Camille's strong, no-nonsense voice rang out, interrupting Christine's line of thought.

Though they were all whores, most without education or proper etiquette, they knew basic manners and all granted Madame Camille the respect she deserved. So they fell silent and did as they were bade- lining up shoulder to shoulder in front of their Mistress and her unknown guest. And it was as Christine came to stand beside Devenue at the end of the line, that she caught her first glimpse of the man who had caused such a stir.

As far as stature went, he wasn't all that impressive. He was quite short and lean- some of the girls standing far taller than him. He had long, wavy dark brown hair that ran well past his shoulders, and prominent smile lines that pronounced a strong jaw that had obviously done plenty of laughing. His ensemble was simple: mismatched yet colorful leg coverings and a well-worn blue patched coat, along with boots that had seen far better days. He was a downright average looking man if you went straight to physical appearances. . . But despite his outward simplicity, Christine was immediately entranced. And it was all due to his _eyes._

They were deep brown with just a tint of caramel swirling in their depths, but it was what they showed that made the young prostitute pause. They were so _warm._ Honesty, intelligence, curiosity, creativity; all shone through past the surface to complete the man. And though Christine couldn't explain why, she felt as though she knew him . . .

"Alright, Pierre Gringoire," Camille said, addressing him and making Christine's eyes snap back to her Mistress. "Which of my girls suits your fancy?"

For a moment the man- _Pierre Gringoire-_ looked around, making eye contact with each of the whores before a genuine smile rose on his lips.

"They are all very beautiful, Madame."

"Yes they are. Though surely you have some personal preferences to guide you?"

The man nodded, "Oh yes indeed, Aunt."

Then upon saying this, Gringoire walked to the edge of the line of girls and extended his hand to the first. For a moment, the whore looked to Camille in confusion- but when the older woman shrugged and didn't seem bothered, the younger gave her hand to him. Once he had her hand in his own, the newcomer surprised them all by kissing the prostitutes knuckles and asking her for her name. She stuttered out an answer, which he accepted with a kind smile, before he went on to the next girl and repeated the process.

Christine, as well as the others, all looked on the curious affair in disbelief. This guest was one of the strangest Le Val D'Amour had ever housed, and all watched in silent wonder as he continued onward down the line. Sure, once in a while a customer would be a gentleman, or even tip more on his way out. . . but never had they encountered a man who seemed to _care_ this much. The men who visited them rarely wished to know the name of the woman he took to bed, let alone all of her fellow sisters. . . And yet, here they were.

"He should be in the Palace of Justice as an Inquisitor," Devenue whispered under her breath to Christine as he drew closer to them. "It's just not natural. . ."

"Devenue!" Christine whispered back. "Shame on you!"

"The man is clearly out of his senses," she interjected. "They shouldn't allow crazy ones to walk around freely like the rest of us."

Christine was about to respond in kind, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and returned her focus to the present situation. Gringoire was now standing in front of Devenue, looking at her with humor. It was obvious that he had heard some of their conversation, if not all of it.

"Mademoiselle," he said peaceably, as he took the skeptical woman's hand in his own and placed his greeting kiss to it. "And what might your name be?"

"Devenue," she spat, not bothering to hide the color in her tone. "But that title is only for those that I like."

" _Devenue_!" Madame Camille warned, but the man held up his hand to stop her. Instead he bowed his head to the angry woman.

"I do not know what thing I have done to offend you, Mademoiselle, but you must believe me when I say I am sorry for it."

Devenue snorted and looked about ready to toss him another barb, when someone else spoke up.

"She is merely unaccustomed to a customer such as yourself, Monsieur. As are we all."

It was only as all eyes turned to regard Christine that the young woman realized that the words had come from _her_ mouth. She instantly turned red, knowing that she had spoken out of turn- and immediately shifted her gaze to the floor. Though if she hadn't done so, she might have seen the approving glance from Madame Camille, and the interested expression from Pierre.

"Ah. Then you _all_ must have my apologies, Mademoiselle." Christine lifted her blue eyes when Pierre spoke to her, and noted that he now stood directly in front of her. "I must admit this is my first time in a place such as this."

"That's obvious," Devenue muttered, though she went unheard by all in the room.

Christine smiled at him. "Well, we are honored that you came to Le Val D'Amour, Monsieur. For there are plenty more houses in Paris that you could have gone to- and that would have been a pity."

His eyes twinkled slightly in the candlelight, as he took her hand like he had with the others.

"I am honored to be here, Mademoiselle. . . May I be bold enough to ask for your name?"

"It is Christine, Monsieur."

Appreciation reflected in the man's countenance at her name, before he then asked, "Will you join me, Christine?"

The young woman, having long since become used to having anxious butterflies before her entertaining her guests, agreed calmly and hooked her arm into his own, surprising him. With one last look to Madame Camille – who nodded, giving her blessing- Christine bid the unusual man to follow her back to her chamber, where she would earn her keep. . . Or so she thought.

* * *

The trip back to Christine's designated chambers seemed to last for an eternity, though this wasn't due to the actual distance. The young woman silently chided herself as she opened her door and bid him to enter, pondering upon her new-found shyness at the gentle man's presence. It had been many years indeed since the whore had felt true apprehension for her trade . . . but somehow he had unsettled her. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it was unwelcome all the same.

Hesitation was not something that a whore was privileged with, which Christine knew all too well as she meaningfully closed the door behind them and turned to face her customer.

Pierre Gringoire now stood in the center of the floor, watching her with a tranquil expression as she flashed him a coquettish smile.

"Please Monsieur, make yourself comfortable," she invited gesturing towards the bed that lay waiting in welcome.

At her prompting, the man returned her smile with a warm one of his own before he strolled forward. But instead of climbing atop the bed like she had bid him, Gringoire passed it to sit at the single chair by the window. When he was set to his liking, the man bowed his head in gratitude.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle."

Christine, more than a little surprised by his action, didn't bother to don her usual poker face as she gazed at him in confusion.

"But Monsieur, wouldn't the bed be more to your liking?"

He shook his head humorously. "If I was taken by the need of sleep or other such pleasures then I would concede to your point, my Lady-"

"But you don't," she interrupted curiously, to which he agreed. "Then why have you requested me, sir? I must admit some puzzlement on the part you would have me play?"

"No part is needed," he replied, smile growing. "I merely wish for someone to share the night with."

The whore looked at him in disbelief, before she waited for him to laugh at his own joke. In all the years that Christine had been serving in La Val D'Amour she had never encountered a man who didn't want his desires sated. Never before had a customer merely wished for her company, and she was unable to believe that now as such a case.

"If I do not arouse you, Monsieur, we can find another of my sisters that will."

He raised a single hand, his expression becoming somewhat earnest. "I assure you that my _arousal_ is not in question, Mademoiselle. You are unquestionably beautiful on the eye."

"Then why do you not wish to claim what you have paid for," Christine asked as she drew closer to him and regarded him.

Gringoire just smiled at her, before gesturing to the bed across from him. After a moment of silence it was apparent that he would not divulge his reasoning nor change his mind, so the young woman hesitantly obliged and rested on the edge of her bed. He didn't rush to speak as she looked at him with curiosity, though after a time he made a request, surprising her again.

"Do you know any songs, my lady Christine?"

The woman blinked, her blue eyes growing wide for a millisecond before she nodded. "Yes, sir. . . I know a few."

"Will you sing them to me," he inquired with a contagious grin; his caramel brown eyes sparkling happily as he pushed his bushy hair away from his dimpled face.

Christine laughed softly as she reached out to take ahold of his hand. "Are you saying that you came all this way for a song, Monsieur Gringoire?"

He squeezed her hand with his own, unaffected by her openly familiar touch. Her forwardness didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

"Only if you sing it, _mon cheri."_

Christine blushed slightly at the pet name, before she turned her thoughts to the songs and melodies that she knew. For a moment she gathered herself, before she began to sing the first one that came to her. For a time Gringoire listened to her in silence, his full attention on her, before he quietly hummed along with her. Whether he actually knew the songs for not was unclear, though somehow he ended up catching the harmonies all the same.

Time seemed to still as the woman and man created the moment together- one singing softly while the other hummed jovially along.

Christine felt her heart flutter strangely within her breast as she continued without pause, regarding the lovely stranger that had come for visited her for unique reasons. And though she wouldn't admit it aloud, the woman could already feel the beginnings of affection blooming in her heart as she looked upon him. It wasn't earth shattering or love at first sight, but somehow he had touched her as the night had waned on. He had _reached_ her in a way no other man ever had, and she would forever be grateful to him.

As the hour grew ever later and the woman ran out of songs, she felt a remorse take over. In truth, she had enjoyed her time with Gringoire . . . But now he would have to take his leave from Le Val D'Amour.

"Will I ever see you again," Christine asked as she escorted him from her room, both standing on the opposite thresholds, facing one-another.

Gringoire's smile lines grew more prominent as he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to her forehead in farewell. "You can count on it, Mademoiselle."

His lips were soft and tender as he pulled away, and Christine found herself leaning over to peck his clean-shaven cheek in response.

"Then . . . until we meet again, Pierre Gringoire."

The man's complexion turned a light red at the contact before he whispered, "Goodnight, my lady Christine."

Then without another word he turned and departed, leaving the young woman with a lighter heart and a hopeful giggle on her lips.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ A very late gift for my dear friend TheLastUnicorn1985 over on Deviantart. ^^ She wanted me to use her OC Christine along with the lovely Poet Gringoire! :D I had almost forgotten just how wonderful our lovely Bruno Pelletier _is_. *giggles* Anway, I hope you guys were able to enjoy this story too! I haven't written anything for Notre Dame de Paris in several years. . . I must admit it felt good to touch on the fandom again. Perhaps I'll have to make more stories in future. . .

 _ **~Lyn**_


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